It took this mahoosive cheese truck to sloooow me down. When it dramatically and implacably blocks your vitesse, you suddenly have zero choice.
I realised as I gazed around at the avenues of trees and the fields and fields of sunflowers of southern France, how rarely I look around when I’m on a mission.
It took about 10miles before I let go of frustration and ‘late’ (because you can’t really be late on holiday). The numbers on its bum were wildly optimistic as we rarely broke 40mph.
It took the first sleepy town with shuttered houses in the high sun to flick on my curiosity switch: what do these people do for a job who live here miles from anywhere??
It took the vineyards with seried rows of grapes to be slowed enough to start thinking: where actually am I?? Not just where I’m going.
Came back to present. Not obsessing about the future that hasn’t happened yet and where I ‘should’ be by now.
And I breathed. And stilled my busy brain for a bit. And took in the colours, the light, the air, and enjoyed the view.
Slow. Enjoy the journey. Enjoy where you are right now. Because otherwise the destination on its own really isn’t worth it
When do you need to remember this? Without a cheese truck??
When do you need to enjoy the journey rather than just gun for the destination?
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